Forced Disclosure
by sandie.eggo
Summary: Dom Cobb runs Skyline City and will do everything in his power to protect it from threats, even hire enigmatic point man extraordinaire, Arthur. Little does Cobb know, his protege, Ariadne Scarlet has her own visions for Skyline and unfortunately for Cobb, they don't include him.


**Author's Greeting:** Hello! For those of you following the Inception Reverse Bang on Livejournal, this is my piece.

 **Rating: PG-13:** for language, descriptions of violent acts, mention of prostitution

 **Warnings and Disclaimers** : Major character death. Familiarity with the movie and the science and theory behind dreamshare will be helpful/useful.

I do not profit from this work of fiction. Cover graphic courtesy of livejournal user: kaminagi.

* * *

 **Forced Disclosure**

 _Evening_

A cold blast of wind blows across the quiet harbor, chilling me to the bone. Despite being clad in only my evening dress, I ignore it and step onto the balcony of the luxurious penthouse. Out here, an unencumbered view of Skyline City greets me, the unique skyscrapers jutting out of concrete foundations, standing like silent sentinels waiting for my command. Goosebumps form on my skin and the waves of my dark hair are swept away from my neck, exposing pale flesh to a chilling kiss. I continue to ignore it all though my heart beats steady, loud, like a drum signalling war.

I am determined tonight; I have a purpose, I have a mission.

And it's not to gaze upon the unparalleled view of gleaming glass and hard steel. No, not tonight. Tonight, I watch the night sky, a cloudless, dark blanket studded with rough-cut diamond stars. It's there, as I look up towards the heavens, that I find what I'm looking for, what I'd been hopeful I'd find. Low in the inky sky, a greatly anticipated blood moon illuminates the night, staining the city in rust.

Astronomers and scientists foretold its coming years ago, a natural occurrence explained by the physics of celestial bodies. Nothing more, nothing less. A few so-called prophets and assorted rabble-rousers however, decried the blood moon to be a warning herald of impending misery. They cited ancient texts and scriptures as the word of god.

And then there are the fewer still, a tiny fraction, who hold onto hope. Hope that great change awaits, a turning of the tide drawn by the pull of a sinister moon.

I release a sharp breath, a smoky vapor shooting out in a cloud between ruby lips before dissipating into the ether.

I do not fear the cold, nor damning prophecies. I welcome the moon's presence. I embrace the sign of change that will come.

* * *

 _Later that night_

"That's what the kooks say. But don't believe any of it. This is my city and nothing happens in my city without my say."

I slip inside an opulent room via a wood-paneled door just as Dominick Cobb makes his declaration. He's talking to another man seated opposite him in a leather chair matching his. The room is dark, heavy, a man's room where men discuss business better not left to the light of day.

"Isn't that right, darling?" Cobb stands from his seat in the plush chair, smiling that charming smile that wins over the masses and proclaims me the luckiest woman alive.

With practiced ease my mouth curves up into an answering smile while I take his proffered hand.

"Absolutely." I allow him to place a gentlemanly kiss on my knuckles, warm lips touching cool skin.

He gestures to the other man who had risen as soon as I entered the room. "Arthur, I want to introduce you to Skyline City's most talented, as well as most beautiful, architect: Ariadne Scarlet."

 _Arthur_. A simple name. Unassuming.

"It's a pleasure, Ms. Scarlet." We shake hands. Arthur's grip is warm and firm. I can feel the calluses along his fingers. They tell me he's familiar with holding a gun. Apparently it's true that he's no stranger to the use of weapons outside of dreams.

"Likewise, Mr—?"

His stare is calculating and perhaps a touch shy of cold. I return an inquisitive stare of my own, not one to be intimidated by the almost stranger, Arthur, who from my own inspection is all clean-cut lines from the top of his short, neatly maintained haircut and expertly tailored suit, all the way down to his well-polished wingtip Oxford shoes. He's a good-looking man, but not handsome in the same way that Cobb is classically so. Where Cobb's individual features are remarkable, Arthur's are average, pedestrian. But altogether they worked, as if he was cut and assembled piece by piece until his maker beheld something pleasing.

"Just Arthur," he replies, giving nothing away while his gaze lingers on me.

Interesting.

He says nothing more and I leave it at that, for now. "Well, Arthur, like Dom mentioned I am an architect, although I don't know if I can rightfully claim most talented. There wouldn't even be a Skyline City without you," I demur, turning to Cobb and giving him my most winsome smile. "I will answer to most beautiful, though." Cobb and I share a laugh. Arthur looks as if someone had pinched him.

"Arthur is a man of secrets, which is why he is here," Cobb announces.

I only nod. I have high hopes it's true.

Arthur, noticing that there are no other seats in the room, gallantly offers his to me. Gentlemanly courtesy raises him up a notch in my estimation.

"Please, Ms. Scarlet," he motions to his vacant chair.

Before I can respond, Cobb reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me onto his lap. It's a move that might have looked forced if I hadn't followed effortlessly and with a smile. Cobb meanwhile, gives Arthur a predatory smile.

Arthur says nothing as he resumes his seat in the opposite chair. He's a smart man. From my position on Cobb's lap, I'm nearly eye-level with him making it easy to follow his gaze to the possessive hand Cobb keeps on my thigh. We make eye contact for a brief moment before he turns his attention back to Cobb.

"Before you joined us, Arthur was asking about the so-called doomsday theories he's been hearing about because of that blasted blood moon. I didn't peg you for the superstitious type, Arthur." Cobb grins, clearly trying to provoke the other man.

But Arthur doesn't bite. He's calm, cool, stone-faced.

"I just like to do my research."

I already know this. He's a point man after all, and it's part of his job. He plans and plots and organizes. To do all that successfully, he needs to keep informed. And apparently, he's the best at what he does.

"And what has your research turned up?" I ask, careful not to show too much interest in learning what he thinks about tonight's lunar phenomenon. Cobb doesn't believe tonight's moon to be a harbinger of doom. The very thought that an uncontrollable circumstance could affect his city is unthinkable to him. He doesn't consider himself a man who can be thwarted, regardless of the fact that the threat may be out of his control.

"That nothing happens in this city without Mr. Cobb's say," he answers easily, looking me in the eye. For the first time since meeting him, I detect what could be a hint of a smile.

"That's the damn truth." Cobb, clearly pleased with the response, takes a sip from a tumbler from a nearby table. "And since we're forgoing formalities, call me Dom." He takes another sip before he addresses Arthur once again. "Your reputation precedes you, Arthur. Eames told me you were smart. Arthur's the best, he said. Good at what he does. I'm looking forward to working with you. I only work with the best."

"I haven't said I would."

For the briefest of moments I feel Cobb tense at the statement. He's not used to hearing that he won't be kowtowed to and that fact alone makes me like Arthur even more. Thankfully, however, Cobb only laughs good-humoredly. It's too early in the evening for macho posturing. And I'm not really in the mood to put up with any.

"No, you haven't, have you? But you will," he says with the confidence of a man who always gets his way. "I think you'll find the job I'm offering both worthy of your talents, not to mention well worth your time."

"May I presume Ms. Scarlet knows why I'm here?" Arthur gives me a quick once-over, taking in long, dark wavy hair, carefully done makeup and my tight evening dress with its slit up to the thigh exposing one creamy, smooth leg. I always dress to impress when meeting potential partners in mind crime. Cobb expects it. He thinks men can be swayed to his cause if they get a pretty piece of eye candy while they work.

For the most part he's right, but I'm so much more than just pleasing to the male eye. Men who underestimate me do so at their own risk.

Whatever it is that Arthur is thinking, I'm inclined to believe he approves if the blank mask that is his current expression is anything to go by. Really, the man gives little away.

"She knows about dreamshare, if that's what you're getting at. She isn't here just to brighten the room, though she certainly does that. But she's completely trustworthy." He gives me a condescending pat on the knee. "She wouldn't be here otherwise."

Though his words are complimentary, I feel the subtle warning in his touch when he squeezes my knee.

"I'm an architect," I state proudly as if I'm proclaiming I'm the queen of anything and everything. "Both in the real world and in dreams. It's no boast when I say you've never worked with real talent until you've worked with me."

Cobb chuckles, somehow amused by my declaration. "Like I said earlier, she is the best architect in Skyline City. When you decide to take this job, Arthur, Ariadne will be at your full disposal. I want the best working with the best. That's how important this job is to me."

"Which is?"

"You've heard of Eiichi Saito." Cobb says it matter-of-factly, the wealthy Japanese billionaire needing no introduction. At Arthur's nod he gives my knee a pat, holding out his empty tumbler, signalling a refill. I grab the glass out of his hand, stifling the urge to break it over his head by asking Arthur if he'd like a drink. Patience, I tell myself. I can play fawning hostess for a little while longer. After all, the blood moon came out tonight. Change is coming.

Without me in his lap, Cobb crosses his legs and relaxes back in his chair. "Saito's a...well, I wouldn't say we're friends. Men like Saito and I don't make too many friends. But we have a certain measure of respect for each other, let's put it. He's coming to visit in a few weeks' time. Says he has some business dealings here in the States and may want my advice."

Arthur raises a brow at this. "And you don't believe him?" he concludes.

I return with more bourbon for Cobb and cross to Arthur to offer him a glass of the same.

"Thank you," he accepts with another of his measured looks. I give him a crooked smile before returning to Cobb's side, this time taking a seat on the arm of his chair.

"No, I believe him, in so much that he does have some business here." He pauses to take a sip of his drink. "But I don't think whatever business he has will be to my advantage." He leans forward in his seat, leveling a serious look at Arthur. "Skyline City is _my_ city. Nothing happens in my city or to my city without me knowing about it."

"And you think Saito is hatching some plan to take it over?" Arthur asks with a lift of his brow. For the first time since my entrance a real trace of emotion breaks up the straight lines in his face, in the form of a mocking smile. "And I thought you didn't believe in the blood moon prophecy."

Cobb's laugh is sharp. "No, I don't believe in that bullshit. Stories made up by men with small minds and little imagination." He waves a dismissive hand. "What I do believe in is protecting what is mine, staving off real threats. And Saito can be a real threat. Look how he easily took over the Fischer and Cobol holdings." Cobb takes another drink, as if to wash away the bad taste that mentioning the billionaire's latest acquisitions left. He pauses to regard Arthur, recovering his man-in-charge composure. "Did you know, before I got here the city had no skyline? Just some rundown brick warehouses overrun with rats and indigents? Dying businesses, crime, poverty—all the prevailing norm. People were writing it off. This city's a waste of time to try to rehabilitate, they said. There was no infrastructure, no money, no one willing to take a chance. No one willing to _dream big_." He smiles at the private joke we all share. "But I did." He leans back again, a satisfied smile on his face, like the cat who ate the cream. "I created a city that people are proud to call home. People all over the world flock here to behold all of its architectural wonders. It rivals New York, Dubai, Shanghai, Tokyo. And many say surpasses them all in beauty and ingenuity."

Cobb has gotten himself thoroughly worked up by this point and the finger he points to himself makes as striking a statement as if he had beat his fist against his chest in a show of male dominance. "Skyline City is the result of the fruits of my imagination. I dreamt it and it came true."

"I imagine your late wife's prior wealth also had something to do with it," Arthur interjects smoothly and calmly, taking an easy sip of his own drink, a rather satisfying one if the enigmatic smile is anything to go by.

Cobb's smile however, is anything but easy. "You did your research." He tips his drink in Arthur's direction. "Yes, Mal was integral in the development of Skyline but not just because of her money, as you may have heard. She was a talented architect in her own right, may she rest in peace." Cobb downs the rest of his drink with Arthur following in the wake of the impromptu toast.

"I have a weakness for beautiful, creative women, I admit." He gives me a wink before turning back to Arthur. "But I think I've articulated my point, which is how important this city is to me and to all its inhabitants. It's become, in a way, our shared dream. And that's where you come in."

Arthur waits patiently as Cobb leans forward, steepling his hands together. "A man like Saito, he doesn't trust easily, speaks his real mind to no one. He keeps himself highly guarded, tightly restricted, like a vault. No one can get to him and he lets nothing slip past him. But he is still only a man and as such he is still vulnerable."

"Maybe not as vulnerable as you'd like if you've taken the trouble to track me down and bring me here." From the looks of him I'd guess that Arthur is bored given the unimpressed response he gave to Cobb's words. "Saito's subconscious is militarized, is that about the long and short of it? You need me to run point and take care of these threats so you can go in and steal whatever secret you think he's hiding."

If I wasn't half afraid that Cobb was going to throw a fist at this man's handsome face, I'd laugh. Cobb doesn't like being interrupted, much less have his thoughts figured out by someone else. If nothing else, Arthur had guts, which was another point in his favor.

But if I was surprised by Arthur's audacity, I was shocked by Cobb's equanimity.

"Yes, in short. But stealing secrets is a…brutish way of putting it. Extraction is so much more elegant than that, don't you think? I prefer to think of it myself as a forced disclosure."

Arthur gives an inelegant snort to that, clearly unimpressed with the euphemism. I hold back another smile.

"But yes, I suspect Saito has a militarized subconscious. And you know it's damn near difficult to extract when you're being gunned down. That's why I need your expertise. I need you to cover my back while I learn what Saito's up to."

"Distracting a militarized subconscious is a skill, sure, but there are about half a dozen other guys who can do it well enough to give you enough time to, _force a disclosure_ ," Arthur says, trying to keep the sarcasm out of this voice.

"Like I said, you come highly recommended. I want the best on this job. You run point, Ariadne designs the dreams, and I'll—

"Wait a minute. Dreams? As in more than one?"

Arthur looks to Cobb first before directing disbelieving eyes at me. I don't have to glance behind me to know that Cobb is smiling, sure that this is what will reel Arthur in.

"Have you done it before? Successfully?"

The use of multiple dreams is a relatively new one in dreamshare. Many don't believe it possible and claim the concept of too many dreams is too unstable, too risky. Because of that most extractors don't attempt it, at least not on actual jobs. The rate of failure is too high. But there are the daring few extractors out there who make the claim that they can accomplish it just so they can charge higher rates on jobs. These are the shadiest of extractors, exactly the kind of guys you wouldn't want messing in your head lest they do some real damage. Arthur's wise to be skeptical.

In reality there are only a select few who can actually pull off multiple dreams and Cobb happens to be one of them.

"Yes," I answer, before Cobb can say anything on the matter. "Dreams within dreams. It is possible and even necessary. We won't be dealing with your ordinary, run-of-the-mill extraction. We'll need to go deep into the subconscious." I level a steady gaze at the point man, whose full attention I have. I want to make sure he knows the gravity of what I'm saying. "Deep enough to uncover whatever dark secrets lie within."

* * *

 _Dawn, the next morning_

I take a leisurely sip of my coffee from the little table out on the penthouse's balcony, breakfast and the daily paper laid out before me. I watch the dawn gradually illuminate Skyline City. All physical traces of the blood moon from the previous night are gone, but I stare at the space where it had been, now a cloudless patch of sky over the city.

This is my favorite time of the day. The city is quieter, still awakening, the noise of traffic and people not yet marring the solitude of the landscape before me. I watch the increasing strength of the sun make the shiny glass buildings sparkle and wink at me, as if they know I'm enjoying the hour and will keep it secret.

Inside the penthouse, Cobb is still asleep after his late night. He uncharacteristically drank more than he normally allows himself and I know he isn't going to be too happy when he does finally wake.

And not just because of a pounding head. Arthur hasn't given him a definitive answer about the job.

To say that Cobb wasn't too thrilled with what he considered an outright rejection would be an understatement. Not many people are able to get away with refusing him anything. Cobb has his ways of finding out a person's weakness and exploiting it to his advantage to get his way. Last night Arthur had been quiet, constrained, saying just enough not to be rude but too little to give any hint of what he was thinking. I thought it was just his personality, and a part of me believes it is, but I have a suspicion he did it on purpose. He doesn't seem like the type to give himself away easily. That gives him an advantage over Cobb and if that was indeed his intent, then either he had done his research or he was that cautious.

Either way, I'm impressed.

But I don't have time to dwell on my thoughts on the point man as Mandy is announced by the housekeeper.

The blonde walks through the penthouse living room and heads straight for the balcony. She's dressed to kill in a skin-tight black dress that hugs her curves, black strappy stilettos that accentuates her lean legs and toned behind, and her hair and makeup are impeccable. She looks just as gorgeous and put together as she did last night when Cobb introduced her to Arthur and insisted she accompany him back to his hotel.

"Breakfast?" I ask as Mandy takes the opposite seat. At her nod I ask the housekeeper to bring another plate while I pour her a cup of coffee.

"Are you okay?" I gently ask. I hate knowing that what Mandy had to do wasn't entirely her choice.

She had survived the streets of Skyline with her looks and common sense before Cobb came in and reinvented the city. When the city began to shape up and started cracking down on prostitution, instead of being displaced, Mandy approached Cobb with a business proposition. Being good at reading men she knew exactly what to tell him to let her stay and do what she did best. And now, even though she doesn't always have a say on who she sleeps with, at least she's protected and paid handsomely to cater to men and their proclivities. In turn she gives Cobb privileged information he doesn't have to lift a finger for and she can hold on to the knowledge that power that gives her.

It was that way of turning a situation to her advantage that made me like her immensely when we first met.

"I'm great," Mandy accepts the coffee, adding cream and sugar. She takes her time stirring the drink and taking a sip before looking me in the eyes. "He's trustworthy."

The housekeeper is speedily efficient and comes back with Mandy's breakfast.

"Tell me what happened."

The blonde takes a few bites of her meal and sips her coffee before shrugging. "Not much, actually. He was quiet on the way back to his hotel. I tried to get him to loosen up, flirted with him, but he just apologized and said he wasn't going to be very good company."

I frown. "He didn't try to sleep with you?"

Mandy shakes her head. "No. He said he knew that Cobb was using me to glean information about him and asked if I would get into trouble if I came back empty-handed. When I said yes, he said to tell Cobb that he drained the mini-bar and wasn't up for anything." She laughed. "And then he actually took out the alcohol and emptied it out in the sink!"

The image made me laugh too, despite the rather surprising fact it wasn't all that odd to me he would do something like that.

"Anyway, all we did was talk for a bit," Mandy continues. "He was nearly the perfect gentleman, if a little cold and distant. He even let me have his bed."

I discover myself feeling a newfound respect for Arthur. But I don't want to get too ahead of myself.

"And how does he know you won't tell Cobb what you just told me?"

"Well," the other women hedges, blushing prettily. "We sort of made a deal."

"What kind of a deal?" I ask as my heart picks up speed imagining all sorts of scenarios that might foil our plans.

Mandy gives me a wry smile. "Don't look so worried. It's not what you think. The deal is I'll keep his secrets and he would…"

The suspense was killing me and I almost reached out to shake the blonde.

"He would talk about Eames," she finishes hastily, hiding behind a strand of golden hair when she ducks her head.

"How does he know you and Eames—

"He said I looked familiar. Like he had seen me before. Then he remembered that Eames had forged me in a dream to use as a distraction." Her face goes all dreamy and lovesick. "He dreams of me."

She's obviously pleased by this bit of information and I don't quite have the heart to burst her little bubble of happiness that forms whenever she talks about Eames.

"He's is in Mombasa. Can you imagine, of all places? Arthur said he has to keep a low profile for a while." The blonde shakes her head and sighs. "I wish he could have done that here. Dom would have let him, don't you think?"

My patience snaps at that moment and I narrow my eyes, giving Mandy a stern look.

"I mean, Cobb! Sorry." Mandy apologizes with another slight flush, glancing back into the penthouse to make sure no one overheard.

"It's alright, he's still sleeping," I offer.

"I know," the other woman said, staring aimlessly at her half-eaten breakfast, "I shouldn't refer to him as Dom when he's not around. His wanting everyone to call him Dom is just a subtle reminder that he controls us. A reminder that he dominates the people in the city."

I nod at the recitation of my words. "I know it's his name, and it may seem like a small thing, but it's important. I want to make sure you're still committed to what we're setting out to do."

"I am," Mandy replies solemnly. "You know I am. I want the same things you do."

A silent understanding passes between us, a bond between two women who have common goals and shared ideologies.

"Good. Now back to Arthur. Were you able to learn anything else about him? Are you sure he trusts you not to tell Cobb the truth?"

She reaches over and places her manicured hand over mine. "Ariadne, it's alright. He trusts me. And I trust him."

"But we hardly know anything about him! There's a lot at stake and—

"Ariadne!" I hold my tongue but turn to the harbor instead of Mandy's stern expression.

"I know what's at stake here, just as much as you and Yusuf and Eames do. And I trust all of you. I trust the plan that you've spearheaded, I trust Yusuf will help us set it in motion. And I trust Eames sent us the right man to help pull it all together." She squeezes my hand, forcing my attention away from the water and back to her now concerned gaze. "Don't you trust us?"

"Of course I trust you guys." I visibly deflate as I release the tension I was unconsciously holding. The weight of what we are planning, the burden of making sure we are setting ourselves up not to fail, it consumed most of my thoughts and energy. It would be freedom at great risk for all of us.

"I guess I'm just as disappointed as Cobb that Arthur didn't accept the job."

"Yet." The blonde smiles and gives me a pointed look. "You can convince him. Go to him and tell him what we're doing."

I wanted to do that. I wanted to make this simple. I wanted to tell the world what Cobb had done, to make people see and understand the man who built this great city. Unfortunately, I didn't have the agency to make that known. In the eyes of the city and most of the world I'm Cobb's talented little architect. In some circles, I'm just his young little plaything. I needed to be heard, but I needed to do that on my own terms.

"You know I can't do that."

Mandy nods slowly, understanding my position. In many ways, we're in the same boat.

"He's kind, Ariadne. I can tell you that much. There's something about him that isn't like the other men Cobb gets to work with him." She gives herself a little shake as if to shake off the memory of the many callous suits who used her body for their own pleasure. "And," she continues, looking at me with that hint of a flush on her perfect cheek, "if he did want anything more from me last night, I don't think I would have had to imagine he was Eames while we did it."

It was telling for the blonde to confess such a thing. I knew a little about detachment when it came to supposedly intimate relations, but not to the extent of what Mandy had to go through. Such a confession from her told me a lot.

Eames said I could trust him and now Mandy essentially gave the same seal of approval. I don't have many opportunities to pull off what needs to be done and last night's blood moon left me feeling something, an assurance somehow that change can happen. And that I am the one who is going to make it happen.

"Ariadne?" Mandy looks at me quizzically when I remain silent, lost in thought. "What do you think we should do? Should I tell Cobb what Arthur told me? Or should we try to think of something else?"

I don't want to think of something else. I wanted—no needed—to act now.

With one last look across the harbor, the early dawn giving way to morning, I make up my mind.

"No, we stick to the plan. Stay here, and if Cobb wakes up, tell him what Arthur told you to. And tell him you told me the same thing. I need to go." I stand, my resolve strengthening my spine as I re-enter the penthouse and stride to a phone to call for a driver. Once that task is done, I shrug on my coat and grab my purse, already on the way to the door when I hear Mandy ask where I'm going.

I turn in the opened doorway and say calmly, but resolutely, "You're right. I'm going to Arthur. I'm going to convince him to accept our job."

* * *

 _Later that morning_

"Ms. Scarlet." Arthur opens the door to my brisk knocks a little surprised, but looking as put together as Mandy had been earlier this morning.

"May I come in?"

"Please, do," he returns wryly after I brush past him without waiting for permission. I catch a hint of his aftershave as I walk past, something light and clean. Aside from his suit coat hanging on the back of a chair, the room is neat, the bed looking as if it hadn't been slept in, no personal effects scattered about.

We stand facing each other, sizing each other up from what I can tell. Neat hair, clean-shaven, pressed suit, recently-shined shoes. His eyes are sharp, as if he hadn't had a drink at all last night and had gotten a full night's sleep. He is, in a word, perfect.

I don't want to think about why that bothers me so much in this moment or why I was entertaining thoughts of seeing him disheveled or half-dressed with a mean case of bedhead and morning stubble dotting his jawline. I have business to get to, not fantasies to indulge.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Ms. Scarlet?"

"Please, call me Ariadne. Since I don't have the advantage of knowing your full name, it seems unnecessary to be so formal."

"Alright," he says slowly, clearly unsure what to make of me. "Ariadne."

Coming from his lips my name is a low and deep sound, serious, as is his demeanor when he looks me straight in the eyes. I don't want to admit to myself how much I liked hearing it.

A knock and the muffled sound of room service filters through the closed door.

Arthur frowns. "I didn't order—

"I did. I wasn't sure if you had breakfast yet, so I took the liberty of having some brought up."

When Arthur doesn't make a move to open the door, I brush past him once again to do it myself.

"Good morning, Ms. Scarlet. I've brought everything you ordered. Where would you like it set up?"

I give orders for David, the room service staff member, to set the trays over at the little table which he does with maximum efficiency.

"Shall we?" I ask once David leaves.

Looking like he's accepted he doesn't have any choice in the matter, Arthur gestures to one of the chairs at the small table for me to precede him.

I remove my coat and take a seat, reaching for the silver coffee pot and manage to pour two cups before Arthur finally takes his own seat.

"Thank you," he says, accepting a cup.

"Cream and sugar?" I ask, lifting the lid on the sugar bowl.

"No, thank you, black is fine. And you don't have to serve me."

"Force of habit," I shrug. "I often play hostess to Cobb's guests." I smile before dropping a sugar cube and adding a splash of milk to my own coffee.

"Is that what I am? A guest? Mr. Cobb seemed to think otherwise last night."

"Cobb has a great need of you." I watch him take a sip of coffee, watch the column of his throat as he swallows the hot liquid. "As do I."

"Do you?" I don't miss the way his eyes pan down my face to my dress, a short, asymmetrical blue-green number that brings out my eyes. It's more my style—no fuss, easy to slip on and off.

"And what exactly do you need me for, Ariadne?"

I set my cup down and take a moment to answer. On the way here I thought about how I would approach Arthur, what logic and reason I would use, how best to appeal to this man. I was going to be careful about what to tell him, this virtual stranger. But now as I sit across from him all I can think about is that blood moon.

"I have a job offer for you. It involves...well, as Cobb likes to say, forcing a disclosure. And I need you to be _my_ point man."

"Two job offers in less than twelve hours. I didn't realize I was in such high demand. I should start charging more." He takes another casual sip, amusement in his eyes as he asks, "And whose secrets are you trying to steal?"

I hesitate before answering. I'm not quite ready to leave everything on the table. But then Mandy's words come back to me. Arthur's trustworthy, he's kind.

And Eames trusts him. Eames told me he would send someone who he trusts with his secrets, someone competent and reliable. Someone who can be loyal.

"Before I tell you, I need to ask you a question." He waits patiently.

"What do you know about the circumstances regarding Mallorie Cobb's death?"

He frowns, clearly not expecting me to ask something like that. "It's common knowledge that she died in a car accident. She was drunk, her car hit a tree. She was in a coma for a few months before she died."

"You're right, everyone knows that. But what do you know?"

He regards me over his cup for a few seconds with that same measuring look I became familiar with last night. I stare back unflinching under his scrutiny. "What I know, you mean, as a man who does his research?" At my nod he sets his cup down, leaning back in his seat.

"Well, I know the former Mrs. Cobb didn't have a reported drinking problem. That to me, makes it uncharacteristic of her to get drunk. And no one knows why she indulged that night. The car she was driving was a classic sports car that was her husband's. That wasn't so odd in itself except she was reported as having rarely driven, preferring to have a car and driver transport her. Suicide was ruled out—there was no note, she had no history of depression or other illnesses and by all accounts Mr. and Mrs. Cobb loved each other. No one financially benefitted from her death and the citizens of Skyline were reported to truly mourn her passing."

"Your research skills are impressive. And you're right, on all counts. All circumstances revolving around Mal Cobb's death were a bit out of the ordinary…"

"But not improbable," he finishes, just as he does with his coffee. "And nothing suggests foul play," he adds quietly studying me again with an impenetrable gaze. "But you obviously suspect something." There's a pause as he considers, his eyes never leaving me. "Or should I say, someone." For my part, I do a good job of not squirming in my seat as realization dawns on his face. "No, not just someone, Dom Cobb."

I don't hesitate, but push forward. "Yes. I believe there's more behind Mal's death than what everyone was told. I...I knew Mal briefly, before she died. As Cobb mentioned last night, she was quite the architect. As an aspiring architect myself at the time, it was the Cobbs' talents that drew me to them."

"Yes, I know," he confesses nonchalantly, reaching for the coffee pot. I don't miss the hint of a smirk that crooks his lips, or the glint in his eye when he takes a sip from his refilled cup. "Ariadne Scarlet, native of Skyline City before there was a skyline. Graduated top of her class and went on to Paris to pursue her architecture degree. Came back home and under the guidance of Dom and Mal Cobb, made a name for herself."

"You had heard of me." It shouldn't have surprised me, that information is mostly common knowledge, but he had pretended not to know anything about me last night. He knew how to keep his own secrets.

"Yes, but I wasn't aware you are involved in dreamshare. Cobb is good at keeping you for himself, it would seem. A pity too, on past jobs I could have benefited from a good architect, if you are in fact as good as you and Cobb claim."

"I'm better than good." It always rankles me when I'm not taken seriously, or at my word, as if they meant less because of who I am or my sex.

At that I do get a smile, a real one, one that makes his eyes crinkle just so, that makes him look younger and not as serious as a heart attack.

"But you don't have to take me for my word, if that's not good enough for you. You can learn that for yourself, if you accept my job offer."

A challenge, one he responds to with another smile, this time slow and crooked. His eyes darken and I don't see any uncertainty in them regarding my abilities, rather something much more frightening.

"Before I accept anything, I would like to hear more about why you suspect Mal Cobb's death is anything more than an accident. If I'm understanding you correctly, you believe Mr. Cobb may have something to do with it. He's the one you want to extract from, am I right?"

"Yes." I take a moment before responding to his request, with the words I had rehearsed in my head a thousand times since I knew I'd need another dreamer for the plan. "As for why I suspect more to Mal's death then what is generally believed, it's because of what I know. Everything you've pointed out about the circumstances of her death are odd. But as I've mentioned, I also knew Mal before she died. Both she and Cobb were, well, they were saviors to me." I get up to pace the room, too much adrenaline in me to stay seated as I continue. Arthur turns in his chair, eyes never leaving me.

"As you apparently already know, I grew up here and the city was as bad as Cobb painted it to be last night. When I was younger I had dreams that I would make this city great. I left for school, first New York and then Paris. I saw the architectural beauty of those cities and I had big dreams. And I lucked out. By the time I had the skills to make a difference, the Cobbs had already started rebuilding here. I came back and appealed to them to help." A flood of memories wash over me and I smile thinking about the brash young woman I had been, awestruck before such sophisticated beings and scared of being rejected. "Mal brought me on board with open arms. Cobb was wary of my lack of experience, but Mal argued my case. She said that experience came with time and was easier to come by than true passion and spirit. She also said that I reminded her of her younger self, when she first became an architect. It was a great compliment."

"Mrs. Cobb must have been a lovely person."

I can't help but give him a saucy smile for his attempt at flattery. He smiles back.

"She was," I continue, remembering my purpose. "I worked with her closely for a few months before she died. She was professional, but also very caring, almost sisterly. But then things started to change. She changed. Nothing obvious. She was still the caring and encouraging person I had known, and no one who knew her well said she acted with anything less than her usual grace and consideration. But sometimes...I would catch her staring off into space, like she had lost focus. This happened a few times and I would call her back to whatever we were working on and she would stare at me, her eyes like glass marbles, unseeing. They were brief, these spells, but I remember them so vividly." That first memory of Mal staring at me, blank and almost lifeless, had haunted me and left me chilled to the bone. Even now, in the retelling, I have to step up to the glass balcony door and peer out at the city to help me clear my mind of the image. But it's no use. I have to continue on with the memories. "That night...the night she died, it happened again. She drifted off into some other place. I called her name but that time, when she turned to me, her eyes were sharp. And then she told me something I'll never forget. _Ariadne, never lose sight of who you are. Don't lose yourself and what is real._ "

Across the way outside, one of the buildings I designed stands straight and tall, confident even. I watch the glint of sun on spotless glass. In the edges of my field of vision, I see movement reflected in the balcony door and know Arthur had gotten up and moved behind me.

"Later that night, her car crashed and she was in a coma."

"And what about Cobb?" His voice is low, but close.

"He was devastated. He loved his wife. Rarely left her bedside. He even moved her and had her respirators and other life sustaining equipment set up in the penthouse. But she never regained consciousness."

He doesn't say anything, just waits.

"We all mourned her death, the entire city. But I especially missed her and for a while I didn't want to create anymore. I didn't want to pick up where I had left off."

Outside a bank of clouds waft overhead, and for a short moment the city is thrown into shadow and I can't think of a more perfect setting to turn around and face this perfect man whom I'm supposed to trust with my secrets.

"But Cobb was there. He convinced me to rally, to move forward. And he did it with a few simple words. Can you guess what they were?"

Arthur doesn't answer, but he's a smart man as he's proven numerous times already in our short acquaintance.

" _Ariadne, never lose sight of who you are. Don't lose yourself and what is real._ "

* * *

 _Mandy's dream_

"You know, for a man as wealthy as Dom Cobb, I expected something a little more...refined." Arthur presses his finger down on a key of an antique typewriter sitting on an old-fashioned secretary, the clacking sound loud in the otherwise silent room. "And modern."

I watch him continue to study the old apartment living room and its dark interior. We're in an old abandoned building on the edge of town, one of the last remnants of the city before the rebuild. All the furniture pieces are throwbacks from a simpler time, worn but clean. The room is mostly dark, the design on the wallpaper faded with time, stained by years of tobacco smoke and peeling off in some places. There are a few old lamps about the room but the majority of the light comes from the large leaded glass window.

Mandy has done an excellent job with the details.

"I would think with your experience you would have encountered many run-of-the-mill seedy hideouts."

He looks back at me through a distressed mirror, his expression amused. "Yeah, I have. I wouldn't call this place seedy, though. But I do feel like I stepped back in time. I'm half expecting you to bring me a gin and tonic while I read the evening edition of the paper and smoke a Philip Morris."

He paints an interesting picture. I can almost see him relaxing in one of the armchairs, suit jacket off, tie loosened, white shirt sleeves rolled-up, a half-smoked cigarette held comfortably between two fingers, drink at his elbow.

"But perhaps that's the point?" He's stepped up close without my knowing, distracted as I was trying to picture him in a smoking jacket.

"The point?"

He smiles then, and once again I'm taken with how his features transform just by that mere pull of muscles.

"That Cobb wants to keep secret what is really going on." He removes his coat and after a close inspection, places it on the back of the sofa. He takes a seat in an armchair.

"Right." I mentally erase the image of Arthur rolling up his sleeves and pulling out a cigarette.

"Despite all his talk of the elegance of something as complex as extraction, it's still a dirty game that he plays, especially with men like Saito. This old apartment building is a perfect front for planning and practicing runs. It's been scheduled for demolition for a while now. Cobb told the city it'll be torn down when he comes up with the right use and design for the space."

A dubious lift of one eyebrow and Arthur asks, "And the city isn't questioning why it's taking so long?"

"The city doesn't question Dominick Cobb's decisions," I say succinctly, letting that statement hang in the air as I make my way to the old secretary desk. Pulling a key out of my pocket I use it to unlock a bottom drawer and pull out a sleek PASIV case and bring it over to an empty coffee table.

"What about you? Do you ever question his decisions?"

"Cobb runs the city. I just help him design the buildings."

He doesn't say anything, but I can tell by the glint in his eyes that he finds my evasion of the question telling. He asks what I'd like to do with the space once this building is demolished.

"I haven't really thought about it." Which is a great lie, one that he sniffs out immediately.

"I highly doubt that, what with you returning to your hometown and being an architect. You're going to have to do better than that to convince me you don't have any ideas."

I have to admire that insight and reasoning. With a shrug, I decide it won't hurt to tell him. "I'd like to build a safe house, but not for dreamshare."

"For what?"

I risk a quick glance at him before turning back to the PASIV to unwind one of the IV lines. "For sufferers of domestic violence."

It was more than that. The idea of a safe house had originally been Mandy's and when she told it to me one afternoon we expanded the idea to a community. Being that both Mandy and I are from here and having seen what the city once was to its ever continuing rise as a world class city, we, as Cobb likes to say, dreamt big.

Our plans included a place for the abused, for those ostracized by family and friends because of who they are or how they identify. A place where people can feel safe and supported. It would be a residential community with subsidized housing, play areas for children, maybe even a pool, a recreational room, and community garden. And it wouldn't stop there. We'd provide counseling services, job skills training, any kind of support needed, and all for those who felt abandoned, hopeless, stigmatized.

Cobb wasn't too keen on the idea. If it wasn't a monetarily profitable venture or one where he could perceive an advantage, then it wasn't worth pursuing.

I can tell Arthur has his doubts as well if his barely-there smile is anything to go by. I'm a little disappointed.

"You think it's stupid."

He gets up and comes towards me, hands in his pockets, a non-threatening gesture.

"Not at all. It's admirable." For a moment he studies me and frowns.

"But?" I can't help but be a little defensive towards any criticism when it comes to the safe house. Or any of my ideas, really.

"I think it's a great idea, but I'm guessing Cobb hasn't been receptive to it."

Once again his read is accurate. "No one can fault your deductive abilities. But I have great hopes that my plans will come to fruition. With your help."

He considers me for a moment before he asks, "Does that mean you'll be forcing more than a disclosure of the circumstances of Mal Cobb's death while we're down here?"

"Perhaps." I look him straight in the eye. "Would that change your mind about helping us?"

He takes another moment to think about that before he shakes his head. "No. But you could have told me that earlier, back in the hotel room. I don't usually go into a job this ignorant on the details. I typically require a little more specificity."

I know that about him. It makes being here with him all the more surreal and leaves me with a lot of questions.

"Then why are you here? Helping us, that is?"

His answer comes simply and without hesitation. "Because Eames said I can trust you."

"He told me the same about you."

He comes over to stand close, making the differences in our height more prominent. He's ever serious, but there's something in his expression I can't quite read. "But you don't."

I don't, not completely.

"Is it because you're wondering why I didn't I tell you I needed to think about this job before accepting, like I did with Cobb? Or why, considering I like to do my research, I didn't ask you for more details? Or maybe you're wondering why I'm jumping into this situation that I hardly know anything about and could prove dangerous if it fails?"

He's voiced all my concerns and I can't help but think about when I approached him about the job only a couple of hours before. He accepted with little hesitation. And when he came back with me to the penthouse and I introduced him to Mandy and Yusuf and told him they were both working with me, he didn't question their presence. And he didn't even bat an eye as he watched them prepare a still sleeping Cobb for an IV, or when our housekeeper kept watch over the PASIV.

"You want to know the truth, Ariadne?" He hasn't moved but he seems even closer than before, making me very aware of his masculinity, the hard lines of his body, the rough texture of his skin, the faint smell of his aftershave mixed with the linen smell of his clothes. It feels like he's occupying my personal space to make sure I hear every word, whether I like it or not.

"The truth is, you deserve better than a man like Dominick Cobb. And you know it."

My eyes snap up, light brown meeting dark brown in a familiarity that's more comfortable than I'm expecting. In this moment, it doesn't feel so strange being here with him.

"I've done my research. On both of you. Cobb, surprisingly, was relatively easy. He's textbook. Egomaniac with a bit of a savior complex thrown in. He's handsome and charming so he gets away with it. He's as slick as they come. I've worked with men like him before so I know best to watch my back."

He searches my face for a moment, another frown marring his own handsome face. "You, on the other hand," a brief pause and a slight shake of his head, "Eames told me he had a friend who needed help, but wouldn't tell me what for. He asked me to do him this favor since he couldn't come help himself. I've worked with Eames a long time and I know he's good at reading people. I trust his evaluations because they're usually spot on. But that doesn't mean I don't like to draw my own opinions. And you, I haven't quite figured out."

A part of me triumphs in that knowledge. Oftentimes, I'm profiled based on my looks and my sex as nothing more than a pretty little thing, arm candy for Cobb, not much else below a carefully maintained surface. But I draw my strength and courage from proving most people wrong.

And then there's another little part of me that wouldn't mind it if Arthur did get to know me better. To let him discover in his own time, in his own ways, what lies underneath the made-up façade.

But that's a thought better left unexplored. For now.

"And yet, you're here." I'll admit it spoke of his loyalty and trust where Eames was concerned, at least. But I'm still not quite satisfied with that. "Is it just because you think I'm a puzzle to solve? Or are you just trying to play the knight in shining armor? Because if you are, I don't need—

"No," he says slowly. "Neither. I'm hardly what anyone would consider a knight. And I have no reason to doubt you can take care of yourself. You're not a puzzle, either. Just someone I think I need to get to know better."

Truth is, I wouldn't mind, as long as he offered me the same opportunity to get to know him. "The first thing you need to know is you don't have to watch your back with me."

He considers this for a moment, both of us unflinching under the other's scrutiny. Eventually, we come to a silent understanding before I break away to turn back to preparing the PASIV.

"Unless you give me reason not to trust you."

His smirk is just as deadly as his smile. "Noted."

We continue to work in silence for a few moments. I prep the PASIV while he surveys the room at large, committing the details into memory. He touches the odd piece here and there, an old mantle piece clock, a side table, an empty crystal decanter.

After several minutes he interrupts the silence. "You know, this isn't what I normally do, when I'm contracted for an extraction job." He turns away from examining the wallpaper. "I mean, I know how to read blueprints and I'm familiar with having to learn the layout of mazes, but when I'm asked to use my skills it's usually for shooting things, diverting projections, distracting them. I run point. This," he sweeps an arm at the room at large, "this is what architects do."

"But as the point man, you're used to memorizing details. And all you really need to do is recreate a space that already exists."

"That's easy for you to say. I've never had to do that from a dream that's recreating a space that already exists."

"This may not be how you normally do things, but like I told you back at the hotel, we don't have a lot of time or opportunities." I'm reminded of the blood moon and its rare occurrence. It's the sign I'd been waiting for and I certainly don't want to wait for another one. "We have to take advantage of any that we're given."

"I understand. I'm just warning you, given I hardly had any notice of this, you may not get an exact replica." He's crouching down, studying one of the threadbare rugs. He stops to look at me questioningly. "Where will he most likely be sitting when we go under?"

"Here." I pat the sofa. He walks over and sits, bouncing a little on the cushion and rubbing his hands over the fabric before leaning back. He brushes his cheek on the back seat, his eyes closed.

"What are you doing?" I ask, amused.

"I once worked with an architect who got us massacred in a dream and nearly got us killed in reality because he got the details wrong on the carpet of the mark's seedy little love nest. I had to go underground for almost eight months and fake my own death before it was safe to resurface." He opens his eyes and grins. "Just because there's little time, I won't be completely unprepared."

I like that about Arthur. I grin back.

Which is just how Cobb finds us when the apartment door opens and he strolls in, looking a little worse for wear, his hangover evident. He does however, manage to maintain his usual air of self-confidence. Yusuf follows behind him.

"Well, Mandy told me I'd find you two here." Cobb sees the PASIV lying on the table and asks, "Were you two planning on sleeping together behind my back?" His bark of laughter fills the room, followed by a cringe. To Arthur, he says, "I'm joking, of course. You're not an idiot. But I knew you wouldn't be able to resist. Accepting the job, that is," with a wink in my direction.

Despite the fact that he shakes Arthur's hand and claps him on the back, it looks as if Cobb is congratulating himself.

"This is Yusuf. He's my personal chemist. Brilliant man. He's worked on some very revolutionary stuff."

Arthur gives Yusuf a nod, which the other man returns.

"Ms. Scarlet mentioned you. I understand you created a Somnacin derivative that inhibits inner-ear function."

"Yes," Yusuf answers quietly, solemnly. "If used properly, it requires a much larger jolt than a simple fall to wake the dreamer. And used with the proper sedative it allows for long-lasting dreams."

"And dreams within dreams!" Cobb enthuses, clapping Yusuf on the back. "I told you, I only work with the best."

Arthur looks suitably impressed. "Speaking of dreams within dreams, I'd like to experience that. I admit, I've never seen it done with any sort of stability. Everyone I've worked with who's tried it failed. The dreams always collapse in on themselves." Arthur shrugs. "It just doesn't seem possible."

"Oh, it is possible. Excuse me," Cobb assures and then suddenly covers a yawn. "You just haven't worked with me."

"You look like you may need a nap," I say gently, as I take Cobb by the arm and easily lead him to the sofa. He sits without protest.

"You may be right, excuse me." He lets out another loud yawn, resting his head back.. "Just a short one. Why don't you...show...Arhrr—

He's out cold.

"Jesus, what did you give him?" Arthur asks Yusuf.

"Just a fast-acting, time-release sedative," Yusuf answers modestly. "I formulated it myself."

"For once, Cobb was understating when he said that Yusuf's brilliant." I smile at the chemist. "He's a genius. The sedative he injected Cobb with while he was still sleeping in the penthouse will make him drowsy at each dream level until we reach the last dream," I explain. "Which he'll interpret as still being hungover from last night. That will allow us to repeat this dream without him being suspicious."

Just then Mandy peeks her head in the door of the apartment, her eyes finding a sleeping Cobb. She mouths, "Is he asleep?"

"Yes, come in, you're just in time."

She enters and takes in the whole scene. "How's it going?"

"Good, so far," Yusuf answers. "You did a great job with this room. If I didn't know better I would never guess we were dreaming."

Mandy beams back. She turns to Arthur and asks, "What do you think?"

With his eyebrows raised, Arthur says, "I'm impressed. And Cobb wasn't exaggerating when he said he only works with the best." Then he turns to me and says, "Well, that remains to be seen, in your case."

There's a note of teasing in his voice. "Don't worry about me. Just make sure you have this room memorized. Then we'll see if you live up to expectations." The challenge issued, I take off my coat and take one of the IV lines connected to the PASIV and connect it to Cobb's wrist. My heart is beating nearly a mile a minute, both from the rush of anticipation and the little smile Arthur throws my way.

"What other expectations do you have of me aside from me doing my job and doing it well?"

"That I—we can trust you." Another challenged issued.

"Don't worry, you can."

"Of course we can," Mandy says. She glances between me and the point man, a little uncomfortable with the smile she tries to hide from me. "Are you two ready?"

Arthur rolls up his sleeve, preparing himself for his own line and nods.

"Yes," I answer. "What about you, Yusuf?" He gives me a nod, his eyes steely with determination.

"Don't worry, Ariadne, I've studied this room a million times. I won't let you down."

"Mandy?"

She pulls out a headset that she hands to Yusuf which he slips on before she moves towards the PASIV. "I'm ready." After one last check to make sure everyone is connected she depresses the button for the Somnacin.

"Sweet dreams, everyone."

* * *

 _Yusuf's dream_

"You look like you may need a nap," I say gently as I take Cobb by the arm and lead him to the sofa. Again.

Cobb blinks, surveying the room. He, Yusuf, Arthur and I are all standing in the old apartment, the PASIV case open on the coffee table. Cobb gingerly touches his head. "Yes. Good idea." He leans on me a little for support. "I shouldn't have drunk so much last night." He sits down and rests his head back. "Maybe just a...quick nap." A couple of yawns and he's out cold again.

Yusuf and I exchange a quick look before I see Arthur, who is doing his best not to look like he's examining the details of the room and comparing the old stained wallpaper to that of Mandy's dream. When he catches sight of the old typewriter on the secretary I see his fingers twitch to test out the keys like he did in the dream above.

I hide a smile when he catches me staring.

I can't blame his curiosity. Yusuf's dream version of the apartment is a perfect replica of the dream above, which is also a perfect replica of the real-life apartment. But that was the point. We needed all these dreams, all these details to be perfect in order to dupe a dreamer of Cobb's skill level into believing he's still in the real world. Without that, we'd never be able to go deep enough into his subconscious.

"I have to say, I've seen some pretty weird things in dreams before, but this looks and feels surreal."

"You wanted to experience what it's like to be in multiple dreams," I say as I help Yusuf prepare the next PASIV. "Well, this is it, just with the same dream."

After a final scan around the room, Arthur joins us. "Yeah, and now that I'm in it, explain to me again how we'll be getting out." He looks at Cobb who's dead asleep. "Because I'm starting to wonder how a mere kick is going to snap us out of this many dreams."

"It won't just be one kick, but several. One in every dream. And they'll be synchronized," I remind him of what I told him during the briefing back in the hotel. "We use the musical timer to let us know how much time is left to set off the explosive charges set up below each room."

"That's why I wore the headset," Yusuf reminds him. "When it's time, Mandy will play the music which will warn me when to hit play on your headset. The music at each dream level is set to start at different intervals of the song. Since time runs slower the deeper down in dreams we go, we also need less of the timed music." He hands Arthur headphones and a music player.

"The musical countdown will allow us to sync the kicks, making their impact together a much greater jolt for waking us up," I add. "They essentially act as one large kick."

"What about the explosives?"

"There'll be a bag of C4 in that secretary," Yusuf points to the desk with the typewriter, "as well as Ariadne's headset. Go downstairs to the room below and set them up. When you hear the final notes of the music you detonate the explosives."

"I've never been downstairs. I don't know what that room looks like."

"It won't matter," I tell him. "Cobb will be asleep and never leave this room, which is the only one you need to duplicate with any accuracy. Even then, we'll be down in my dream before you have to set up the charges. And by that time we'll be so deep in replicating dreams he won't sense the inaccuracy of yours. And if he does become suspicious and his projections become aware, well, you're a point man."

He nods, visibly impressed. "Do what I do best."

"Right," I smile. "Keep us alive."

* * *

 _Arthur's dream_

"I take it Mandy told you the good news."

Cobb blinks once and surveys the room. Arthur and I are standing near the old coffee table, the PASIV case open and waiting.

"Dom? Mandy did tell you that Arthur accepted the job, didn't she?"

He has to think about it for a few seconds. "Yeah," he responds slowly, walking to the leaded-glass windows and looking out. For a moment I start to panic, trying to remember if Arthur took the time to memorize the view from the window. I risk a glance at him but he looks unfazed.

My fears prove unfounded when Cobb turns around, a big smile on his face. He claps Arthur on the back. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist my offer." And then to me he says, "Didn't I tell you he wouldn't be able to resist? He's a smart man."

I see Arthur's cocky smirk when I answer, "He certainly is. And it looks like we found our point man."

"Excellent." Cobb looks around the room for several moments. A frown forms on his face when his gaze eventually lands on the PASIV lying on the table. His expression turns wary.

"What is it?" I ask, holding my breath. He can't be suspicious, not now, not when we're so close.

"I find it strange that you two were alone in here with this PASIV all set."

This time, when Arthur and I exchange looks he isn't so self-confident. Unfortunately, neither am I.

"We—

"It's—

"Were you two going to start sleeping together without me?" Cobb guffaws at our dumbfounded expressions.

Both Arthur and I expel what can only be called nervous laughter as Cobb takes a seat on the sofa.

"No, of course not." I recover from the scare first.

"I know that, I was only joking." His chuckles belie the underlying threat in his next words. "Neither one of you are idiots."

No, neither Arthur or I are. And in only a few more minutes, but far too long in dream time, Cobb is going to find out just how right he is.

"Arthur's very excited about the prospect of seeing multiple dreams hold steady. He can't wait to try it."

"Yes, I asked Ariadne if we could do it—try it when you got here."

Looking smug, Cobb leans back and rests his arms on the back of the sofa. "I knew you wouldn't be able to pass up the opportunity to see it."

"I thought we could give him a taste. Just two levels since Yusuf isn't here. I'll be the initial dreamer. Then you can take him down to the second level."

"Great idea." To Arthur, Cobb says, "We'll use a regular batch of Somnacin this time around. I have a chemist I work with, Yusuf. He tailors the compounds for me. Brilliant man. When you get up to speed and we start layering three dreams, we'll use one of his derivatives. It's wild stuff, but we won't mess with that until you're ready."

"I can't wait," Arthur says in his usual, understated way.

"For now, you'll get to marvel at what two world class architects can do. I'll warn you though, Ariadne can get very creative."

"I like to push the boundaries of creativity," I respond as I hand a dummy IV line to Arthur. His IV will make it appear as if he's receiving a dose of Somnacin. In reality, or this dream reality anyway, only Cobb and I go under in my dream. "As you know, in dreams there are no limits." I hand an undoctored line to Cobb and keep one for myself as well.

"No, there aren't." Arthur catches my eye. "There's nothing quite like it."

"It's just pure creation." I risk a smile Arthur's way despite Cobb being situated between us.

"You should have seen what she got up to in the first five minutes of her first dream with me. She got carried away and my subconscious stabbed her." Cobb laughs at the memory.

"I've learned a lot since that dream," I say coolly as I efficiently insert my IV. I'm still miffed he hadn't given me enough warning that something like that could happen. "And I've come a long way since then." I turn to Cobb before he presses the button to release the Somnacin that will send us into his worst nightmare. "All thanks to you."

* * *

 _Ariadne's dream_

Cobb wakes with the morning sun shining bright on his face. When he realizes he's in bed, he pushes the covers away and sits up. Squinting against the light, he uses one arm to block some of it, blinking a few times before his eyes adjust and he can take in his surroundings.

It looks familiar; large king-sized bed, a couple of expensive Impressionist style paintings hanging on the walls, a vanity mirror and table filled with different colored perfume bottles, French doors leading out to a balcony. It's his bedroom in the penthouse, as it was when Mal was still alive.

Curious, he gets out of bed and pulls open the doors to the balcony. Before him is Skyline City, but not the one he knows today. It's the one he built fifty years in the future, one that he's seen before only in a dream.

"Good morning, Dom. Did you sleep well?"

Cobb shoots a glance towards the doorway where a familiar and very beautiful brunette walks through. She's the embodiment of grace and sophistication. There's an air of confidence that emanates from her, one that can only be attained through years of an opulent and cultured upbringing in some of the finest homes and schools in Europe. The sway of her hips is mesmerizing; the smell of her flowery perfume, intoxicating.

"What the hell is this?" he whispers, frozen in shock at the sight of his dead wife.

Mal stops short, surprise written on her face. "What do you mean?"

Slowly and with caution, Dom approaches her. "Where's Ariadne? And Arthur?"

"Ariadne?" she asks, brow furrowed. "She's probably at home, still asleep. Who's Arthur?"

Dom doesn't answer, keeping his eyes on Mal the whole time he advances towards her. "What the hell is going on?" He grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Wide eyed, Mal shrugs out of his grasp but stands her ground despite his threatening undertone. "What are you doing? You're frightening me. Are you alright?" She reaches out and tries to place a reassuring hand on her husband's arm.

He slaps it away. "You're not my wife. Who are you?"

"Dom! That hurt." She soothes her hand against the sting of his blow. "It's me, Mal. Your wife."

Slowly, he circles her, examining her every inch with unbelieving eyes. "No, you're not my wife," he answers with a shake of his head. "My wife is dead."

Incredulous eyes stare back at him. "Sweetheart, I think you need to come back to bed. You're not thinking clearly. You think you're still dreaming."

"I am. With Ariadne and Arthur. Where are they? What did you do to them?" He calls out their names.

Silence.

Concern written on her face, Mal carefully reaches out, as if approaching a frightened child. "I didn't do anything to them. But you're not dreaming. You're here in our bedroom. In the real world." He allows her to place a placating hand on him. "Come, sit down here." She leads him to the edge of the bed.

Dom continues to watch her warily, but does as she asks. When she takes a seat next to him, he reaches out and touches her face. It's a surprisingly gentle touch and Mal gives him a tentative smile.

"You're not real," he whispers, softly at first, and then angrily. "You're not real." He drops his hand and abruptly tries to get away but she grabs him and keeps him from moving away.

"Dom, look at me."

He refuses, but doesn't pull away.

"Dom, this isn't a dream." She tugs his hand and when he doesn't budge she stands by his side and whispers, "Touch me. Feel me. Look at me." She takes his face in her hands. "Does this feel like a dream to you?"

Her kiss is slow and sweet, tentative. When he doesn't pull away, she moves in closer, increasing contact, running her fingers up into his hair. His eyes drift shut as he kisses her back.

"Did that feel like a dream to you?"

He rests his forehead on hers and swallows heavily before opening his eyes. For a moment he looks like he believes her. Wants to believe her.

"No. No! You're not real. You're dead. You're just a projection of my subconscious." He steps away. "I can make you disappear."

She watches him take a deep, calming breath. His eyes close like he's meditating. He stays that way for several moments and when he opens his eyes again, she smiles.

"You want me. I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay here by your side. We'll always be together." She takes his hand and places it over her heart.

He takes another deep breath when he feels her heart beat under his palm. "No, we can't. I'm sorry sweetheart, but you're not real. This is just a dream."

He pulls away and moves to a bedside drawer to pull out a gun.

Tears form in her eyes, a lone tear finding its way down one smooth and unblemished cheek. "Why can't you stay?" she pleads. "Please, stay here with me."

He takes aim.

"You lied to me. You promised we'd grow old together," she says defiantly.

Dom lowers the weapon, his mouth tight, his expression pained. "I'm sorry. I really am. I never meant for us to go that far. I didn't think…" He comes to kneel at her side. "I didn't know you'd be lost. I should have never pushed the limits with those dreams." He grasps one of her hands like a lifeline, pleading to be saved. "I didn't know it could be easy to lose track of reality. Please believe me."

This time she's the one to pull out of his grasp. "You're not my real husband. My real husband would never abandon me! He'd never leave me here to die!" In a whirlwind fury, she tears at the bedsheets, throws the pillows at him, reaches into a bedside drawer and tosses its items.

"Sweetheart." He ducks her barrage. "I'm sorry!"

She evades him to reach the vanity where she proceeds to hurl crystal perfume bottles one by one at his head.

"Mal! Stop!" She ceases fire, but only because she's run out of ammunition. Breathing heavy and still angry, she watches him cautiously approach, his hands up in surrender.

"I tried." Slowly, but with a quick glance at the vanity table to make sure there aren't any more projectile objects at hand, he comes closer. "I didn't want to leave you here. I tried to bring you back. But after we fell into Limbo, you...you didn't want to come back. We had created a whole world for ourselves." He gestures to the opened balcony, at the glittering skyline across the harbor. "It was perfect. We had..." he swallows again, struggling for his next words, "we had two children. A girl. We called her Philippa." Tears form in his eyes. "And a boy, James."

She exhales a heavy breath, her anger deflated and replaced by sadness. "Philippa and James. Our children."

"Yes." He sets the gun down on the vanity, needing this tender moment with his wife. He cups her face, gently, reverently. "And we did grow old together. We spent fifty years here. We had a happy life."

"Then why did you leave?" She's hurt and angry and confused.

He tosses up his hands and exclaims, "Because it wasn't real! Just like none of _this_ is real. Not even us. We're in a dream. This is just my subconscious...I don't know, feeling guilty, maybe? And I do. Believe me, I do. I never wanted you to lose sight of who you were or what was real!"

"Never lose sight of who you are. Don't lose yourself and what is real," Mal recites, as if realizing something for the first time.

"I told you that the first time after we came out of that first experiment with sustained dreams. I probably should have taken it as a sign," he says regretfully. "That night when you…died," he shakes his head, painful memories coming back to him, "You had gone back under without me. I tried to find you but—but—I didn't know how! You created some kind of labyrinth or something! Down there in dream time, I searched for years. But eventually, I had to leave and when I woke up you were still asleep. Or what I thought was sleep. Nothing could wake you. And when you didn't respond to anything...I feared the worse." He looks at her sadly. "You were...comatose."

"You could have found me. You could have tried harder." She's angry again, accusing. "You gave up!"

"No! It wasn't like that!" Dom starts pacing the room. "You went into a coma. I couldn't reach you and I couldn't let anyone know what you did. I couldn't take you to the hospital. There would have been questions. So, I had to improvise." He pauses in his tracks. "I faked a car accident to hide your...condition. I had to disguise the effects of the Somnacin, the sedatives, the induced dream—all of it. Doctors were baffled and didn't know what to do. I had you transferred to the penthouse. Night after night I went down and tried to find you and bring you back. I knew if I couldn't…" He slumps down on the edge of the bed, looking physically and emotionally drained, like he had futilely traversed those dreams all over again. "Your prognosis wouldn't be good."

"And you couldn't." She backs up to the vanity to support herself from the weight of his confession.

"No," he says quietly, remorse in his eyes. "There was nothing anybody could do."

Slowly, she nods, as if coming to terms with everything he's told her. "Did I...suffer?"

"No. Physically, the doctors and I did everything we could to keep you comfortable." He stands from the bed and takes a hesitant step. His expression is a mixture of his grief at relieving the memories and regret for what he wasn't able to do. "I like to think that in here," he points to his head, "you were happy. That you fell into Limbo and lived out the version of our lives that you wanted."

"Well, isn't that comforting for you." She turns to the vanity mirror and sees his confusion at the change in her voice. Head bowed, she picks up the gun he left on the table.

When she looks back up, it's to see the shock on his face.

"Ariadne."

I stare back at him, no longer looking like Mal. "Surprised?"

"You learned to forge. How?" Before I can even answer, he has it figured it out. "Eames."

"He's a good teacher. I'm really glad you introduced us. Maybe even more so than Mandy."

"How did you know about this place?" He refers to the dream, to the Skyline City of his and Mal's dream.

"You're slipping," I say with a smirk as I turn to face him. "Mal showed me a sketch she did once of the city. It was familiar with some of the same buildings that are there now, but with some others that aren't. I only needed a minimum of detail to fool you."

Cobb bounds to the balcony only to discover it's no longer day. The sky is dark, studded with diamond stars and a big, bright, blood moon. The skyline is changed to that of the present day. "What is this? Why are you doing this?"

"I'm surprised you haven't figured it out yet. This is a forced disclosure," I say mockingly, "of the truth behind Mal's death. Impressed?"

His scowl warps his handsome face into something ugly and menacing. But then he notices the gun in my hands and laughs. "Yes, but only because you could be so stupid as to think that you could pull one over me. What are you planning on doing with that information, hmm? Tell the police? The doctors? You forget I own the city!" He laughs without humor. "No one is going to believe you. You're just my plaything, my toy to dull the pain of losing my beloved wife. Harmless and meaningless. Sure, you're a talented architect, but you're nothing without me and never will be!" His eyes flick to the weapon in my hand, his smug grin unconcerned with the threat it poses. "Not that you'll get very far once we wake up."

"You're right, about one thing," I say, using all my willpower not to pull the trigger. "No one will believe the truth from me." I release the safety on the gun. "But I am not meaningless." The sound of the gun being cocked is loud to my ears. "And I am not harmless." I raise the weapon and take aim at his knee. I pull the trigger.

His scream of pain as he drops to the floor is oddly satisfying. I step closer but just out of reach to make sure he can hear me through his cries of agony.

"Oh, and you're also right about me being a talented architect."

"You bitch!" Sweat is beginning to dot his brow as tries to staunch the blood. "Don't think I won't make you pay for this! I'm an expert at making a nuisance like you go away."

"Yes, I do know how good you are at that." I lean down close and whisper, "But I'm even better." I aim the gun point blank at the middle of his forehead.

"Go ahead," he spits out. "I won't stop you from delaying the inevitable. And if you do manage to get away, don't think I won't hunt you down to the ends of the earth before I personally inflict a slow and painful death."

I shoot him in the other knee.

He manages to ask why through another scream of agony.

"Why did I shoot you in the other knee, or why am I doing all this?" His teeth are clenched too tightly against the pain to answer. "Well, pain is the mind, they say. And I want you to experience some physical pain before the end." Despite his sickly pallor, he manages to glare back at me. "But I need to make this fast because you don't have a lot of time. As to why I'm doing this, it's simple. Because I deserve better than you. Skyline deserves better than you, a man who took his wife to hell and left her there. You want to know why I'm not worried about any of your threats or why I'm not concerned with everyone knowing the truth about what you did? Because you'll be dead. With one bullet, I'm going to drop you into Limbo and you'll never wake in the real world again. That's right, we're four dreams deep and you're the only one heavily sedated. And thanks to you, I know how to disguise it as an accident." For a moment, when raw fear floods his eyes as the realization of what is about to happen hits him, my hand isn't as steady as before when I aim it at his head. "This is for me, for the city, and Mal."

"No!"

* * *

 _Late afternoon_

I can still hear the last fading notes of the kick music when I wake from the dreams. Around me, one by one eyes open and search mine. All except Cobb's.

I rise from the bed and take the housekeeper aside, handing her an envelope and whispering instructions. With the envelope clutched tightly to her chest, she gives me a teary smile and nod before leaving the room.

Once she shuts the door behind her, the three of us, Mandy, Yusuf, and I, retreat to separate corners to do a quick check.

"What's going on?" Arthur asks.

"When you go down as many dreams as we have," Yusuf supplies, "and for long periods at a time, sometimes you need assurance that you're back in reality."

"How do you do that?"

"With a totem," Mandy answers. "A small item, something that only you know the trueness of. Something no one can replicate so that when you check on it you'll know whether or not you're in the real world, or still dreaming."

He nods, thinking on it. "That's a good idea. I can see how being in all those dreams can mess with your perception of reality." He catches sight of the still unconscious Cobb who Yusuf is examining.

"What about him?" Yusuf asks. "What happened down there?"

"Did it work?" Mandy asks. "Did you learn the truth?"

"Yes." I take a seat as everyone gathers close. "He killed Mal."

No one seems completely surprised as I recount what happened.

"You dropped Cobb into Limbo?" Arthur asks, looking at the man in question before turning back to the others. "So he's not just sleeping, but unconscious?"

"Yes."

"And this was always part of the plan?" he asks quietly. His face turns into a no-tell mask, like it was when we first met last night. Once again, he's hard to read.

"The plan was to learn the truth about what happened to Mal. And to make changes to the way Skyline City is run."

"By taking Cobb out of the equation?"

"Yes."

There's a long silence as Arthur absorbs this information. He doesn't ask anything else, and no one offers any more explanation.

"I need to go." His movements are as abrupt as his words. He has his suit jacket back on and is almost out the door before both Yusuf and Mandy are able to gather their wits and try to stop him.

"Let him go." I can't imagine the chaos that would have happened if either two had actually tried to stop Arthur. The man is trained to fight projections in dreams. He no doubt carries a gun somewhere on his person and has real life combat and self defense skills. Neither Yusuf or Mandy or I would have stood a chance even if we all came at him. Not that I really think he would have used his skills against us.

"Are you sure?" Yusuf asks. "What if he—

"We can trust him," I say as I hold Arthur's gaze.

He doesn't say anything, but I think I see a twitch of his lips, a small, nearly imperceptible lift of his mouth before he walks out the door.

* * *

 _One year later_

The construction site is teeming with helmeted construction workers, not less than half of whom turn their heads as Mandy walks by, all high heels, long legs and bright smile as she comes over to my table. I try not to succumb to too much jealousy at the fact that her hair is probably still perfectly styled under her hard hat, while mine has been smashed down so close to my head I look like I could be wearing another helmet underneath.

"Hey. Thought I'd come by to see how things are coming along." She hands me a paper coffee cup.

"Good. The outer support structure is almost finished." I turn to answer a question from the foreman, one of many men who seem to have discovered a sudden interest in the plans I have laid out before me. As I talk over some of the details of the building plans, I hear Mandy giggle over something one of her throng of admirers said. One look from me and the foreman takes the hint and tells everyone to get back to work.

Mandy waves them off good naturedly. All but one leaves.

"Eames," she gasps.

A stubbled, cheeky grin and twinkling blue eyes peek out from under one of the construction hats. "Missed me, Mandy darling?"

The blonde nearly flies into his waiting arms, a jubilant cry coming from her lips causing heads to turn and wonder who the lucky bastard is who's getting kissed senseless.

"I'll take that as a yes," Eames laughs after they come up for air. "How've you been, Ariadne? Did you miss me, too?"

I laugh as I give him a hug and a friendly kiss on the cheek. "Yes, but not as much as Mandy darling."

"Please tell us you're back now," she asks him in a low but unmistakably hopeful voice, "for good."

"For as long as you'll have me." He punctuates the statement with a kiss. "And as long as Ariadne will allow."

"You know you're always welcome here, Eames. That is, as long as Mandy will have you."

To this Mandy gives a squeal of delight and accepts another kiss from Eames.

"I have a present for you," Eames tells Mandy, who looks over the moon with joy. I can't help but laugh at her excitement.

"What is it?"

"I can't actually give it to you here, it's too big. Why don't we go back to my hotel room?"

My derisive snort at the thinly veiled innuendo doesn't go unnoticed. I tell them both to leave before I get sick.

"I have a present for you too, Ariadne."

"I hope it's better than what you're planning to give Mandy," I tease.

He grins and teases right back. "Nothing is better than the gift of Eames." He nods to a construction worker standing off to the side before he and Mandy walk away, arm in arm. "But I'll let you make your own opinion."

"Hello, Ariadne."

Aside from the yellow hard hat and a different set of clothes, Arthur looks just as he did a year ago. Same enigmatic face with his penetrating eyes, eyes that always seem to try to be understanding and measuring.

"Arthur. It's...been a long time." I almost tell him I'm glad to see him, but that would be admitting something that I'm not sure I want him to know or that I want to admit to myself just yet.

"I've been, preoccupied." He glances around to make sure no one is close by and listening. With Mandy gone, the workers aren't distracted and are back to the construction at hand. Still, he comes closer and lowers his voice. "I'm sorry to hear about Mr. Cobb. I'm sorry for your loss."

He doesn't particularly look sorry. "Thank you," I muster with as much authenticity as his condolences. Since no one is around I forgo the grieving widow act that I played convincingly well in the months since Cobb's suicide car accident. It's an exhausting role, one that I play every now and then when the situation dictates, but this isn't one of them. Still, I can't help but add, "His death is a tragedy, but I believe he'd want me to rally and continue to expand the reaches of Skyline. He was always so fond of the city."

And then I see it. Just a hint, that tiny fraction of a quirk of his lips.

"Is there somewhere private where we can talk?"

I lead him to the foreman's trailer not too far off. Once inside, he removes his helmet. He's grown his hair out and slicked it back. I like it.

"Will the foreman come back?" he asks.

"It's almost lunch time so he'll be gone for at least an hour."

He nods and examines the small trailer. Along one small corner a makeshift desk is set up with a laptop and telephone. A coffee maker sits next to it. On various sections of the walls different structural prints are tacked on with tape. A small couch sits along the long wall.

He takes a seat there and waits. I take the chair at the desk.

"I haven't told anyone about what happened here."

I nod, knowing that if he had, there would have been a lot more to deal with than condolences and well-wishes these past months.

"I wanted you to know that."

"I didn't think you would." He's silent for some time, just watching me. It reminds me of the first time we met and how he always seemed to be measuring me.

I never quite felt like I measured up to whatever standard he may have been using.

"Is that why you're here?" I ask when I can't deal with the silence any longer. "Just to tell me that?"

He stands but doesn't come any closer. "There are three reasons why I'm here, actually. One of the others is to warn you that Eiichi Saito is coming to Skyline City."

"Oh?" I stand, immediately on the defensive.

"Word is, with Cobb out of the picture, the city may be up for grabs." He's annoyingly calm, but then again, he didn't have bad news in the form of a power hungry Japanese billionaire dropped into his lap.

"Thanks for the warning," I utter through tight lips.

"Eames and I are here to help."

"Help?" I ask, surprised.

"Yes. In case you need to force a disclosure."

A grin, the kind that forms crinkle lines around his eyes and mouth, breaks out on his face. I grin back.

"And why would I need to do that?"

This time he approaches, hands in his pockets when he closes the distance and we're only a couple of feet apart.

"Because Skyline City is your city. And you deserve to keep it."

I shake my head to try to deny it. "That's not why we did what we did. We got rid of a bad man, a controlling man. I didn't mean to take his place."

This time he disagrees. "Eames told me everything."

Everything? All of it?

Did he know that Cobb's suicide was faked? That his car crash and overdose of sedatives weren't accidents, but carefully orchestrated to look like they were. That the note he wrote confessing his guilt over the murder of his wife that fooled the police and forensics experts, was forged by an even better forger?

Or did he know about Yusuf, and why he had no qualms in helping to get rid of Cobb. Did he know that Cobb had been threatening Yusuf's family when he refused to supply him with his drugs?

Did he know about Mandy and her confessions? That even though she was a prostitute before she met Cobb, she didn't know what degradation was until he dangled her to the sharks he worked with for information that kept him clean but her feeling dirty? And that she probably would have closed herself off to the world if she hadn't met Eames?

Or did he know about me? About why I was so keen on getting rid of Cobb, a man who tried to take advantage of a young woman who only wanted what was best for her city. A woman who spent years setting herself up as a pawn in Cobb's game, with the express intent of emerging a queen.

"Well, maybe not quite all of it. That's actually the third reason why I'm here."

He takes the final steps to close all distance between us. I notice his eyes are dark, but warm. They're no longer measuring or calculating just before they close and his lips descend on mine. He tastes like coffee and mint, his lips are firm but gentle, and his kiss is way too short.

"I want to get to know the woman who's going to take over Skyline. Who's building it for the needy and the outcasts. Who's going to defend it against men like Cobb and Saito." He reaches out and curls a strand of my hair over my ear. "And I want to help a woman like that keep her city."

"And you said you weren't a knight," I remind him.

He smiles back. "I'm not. But I want to be a part of something good."

"Even if that means doing some things that...aren't so good?" I ask with a raised brow.

"Those happen to be my specialty."

I laugh. "You know, Cobb was always right about you. You are a smart man." I pull him down for another kiss, a longer one this time. "Who's about to join forces with an even smarter woman."


End file.
